


Red Lips and Ciggarettes

by Wolferyn



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 22:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolferyn/pseuds/Wolferyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spanna Au. Hanna works in a bar for a living and one night Spencer shows up looking all out of place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Lips and Ciggarettes

The brunette is out of place in the club; you notice that as soon as she’s one foot in the door. She comes from money for sure, maybe power and she was definitely Daddy’s little trophy by the way she manages to make everyone look at her. She should be drinking champagne and laughing at the people she can see from her penthouse which is decorated in weird shit she bought while travelling or from a collector. She shouldn’t be in a dingy club on a Friday night where the lighting barely works and the coldest the drinks get are room temperature. She has a stupid dress on that reminds you of a disco ball and you shake your head praying she doesn’t sit down at the bar. She does. Within minutes a line has formed with guys crowding around her. You think she must be a L’Oreal spokesperson. She shrugs them off, some with a frown others with a laugh; her head tipped back exposing her neck, her lips a striking red, thick. Her laugh sounds musical. When she stands up you almost drop the bottle in your hands, she smirks and blows you a kiss. You decide you hate her.

***

During your break you see her pinning a blonde to the wall, her tongue down the other girl’s throat. You brush past them on your way out and she catches your eye, stops what she’s doing and smirks at you again. You hate her. There’s an uncomfortable warmth spreading through your body as you watch her press up against the blonde once again, her hands gripping her waist and her leg coming up to the apex of her thighs. The blonde whimpers, falling forward a little. You imagine it’s you there instead, eyes falling closed biting your lip and fighting back a moan. You definitely hate the brunette.

***

“And what would a fine young woman like you be doing in a dump like this?” disco ball dress drops back down in front of you at the bar; she’s got claw marks on her arm, the little back she has showing and her neck is covered in bite marks and her face is flushed. She drums her fingers on the bar top and your face flushes too. 

“I could say the same to you.” you tip your head back and grab another glass from underneath the bar. She laughs and drops her head. Her hair is gorgeous.

“Touché. I’ll have whatever you would recommend.”

“An STD test and a tetanus jab. Oh and a chastity belt.”

“Ouch. Do you treat all your customers like this?” You ignore her and start organising the shelves behind you. “Fine have it your way” You watch her barely there reflection on the grimy glass as she leaves the bar and mingles into the crowd. You can still feel her gaze under your skin, your blood simmering, heart racing. You need another cigarette.

***

“Hey dickwad she said no.” You’ve punched him in the face before the words are finished leaving your mouth, you knew it was only a matter of time before she got into trouble. He stagers backwards into a table and quickly regains his composure. The way he’s looking at you makes you wish you had sent Tony to deal with it instead of hopping over the counter yourself. He snarls at you before storming out of the establishment. There’s a round of applause and a few whistles and cat calls but you shrug them off telling yourself someone would have done the same. “Try and stay out of trouble princess.” She grimaces at the name and it feels like a petty victory. “You good?”

“I’m Spencer.” she raises an eyebrow and you match it. Disco ball is a rich smart ass, who would have thought it.

Fifteen minutes later there’s another propped up against one of the pillars, a guy in his early twenties with Spencer’s tongue down his throat. You tip a glass of water over them on the way past. She laughs.

***

“Alright spill. What’s your story? Breakout actress? Side job to the modelling? Undercover cop?”

“Try grieving mother who’s dick head of a husband skipped town with her best friend three weeks after her one year old son passed away but needs a shit paying job where sleaze balls try and cop a feel every other minute so she still has a roof over her head at the end of the month.”

“Ouch. I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

***

She’s still sitting by the bar at the end of your shift, watching you with a kind of curiosity that you can’t place. She catches your arm as you walk past. “You still haven’t told me your name yet”

“Hanna”

“Well then Hanna” she licks her lips and lets her hand slip down your arm and circle your wrist, she pulls you back to the bar, towards her. “Let me buy you a drink.” The alarm bells start ringing in your head but you shake them off. Her touch burns little marks into your skin. She is cold.

***

The look of surprise on her face is priceless when you push her up against the storeroom walls, knocking over a crate of some crappy beverage you wouldn’t drink if it was the last thing on earth. She tastes like cherries and cheap drink and sweat. She tastes like distraction. You push her further into the wall until she hisses in pain, it makes you smile. Your quick to pull down underwear and hike up her dress and you give her a look that says “You think you’re the first?” You have her in the palm of your hand both literally and metaphorically. She’s beautiful. You hate her. You wipe off your fingers before leaving her in the storage room alone. 

***

She comes in the next week wearing a little red number that leaves nothing to the imagination. You take her in the bathroom during your first break. She leaves before twelve.

***

“I’m not some reverse prostitute princess” you growl as you are knuckle deep in her. She’s lying sprawled on the table in the staff room and you’ve locked the door. She looks like she could have been lifted straight out of an x-rated movie. You hate her. You hate yourself. “Don’t bother coming back next week.”

***

“I said-”

“Stop.” She grabs your hands in hers as you go to turn away. Her touch still burns. “I want to take you out. Tomorrow, for lunch. It’s on me.”

“Fine.” You tell yourself it’s because you haven’t had a proper meal in weeks and not because you like the way she feels under your fingers or the way she sounds when she talks to you like an equal and not some dumb blonde that’s stuck working behind a bar. “But don’t expect anything.”

“I won’t.”

***

You learn she’s a prosecutor for the town and has one of the highest success rates in the state. Her mother was a defence lawyer and her father was a business man. She has an older sister and she is a perfectionist. She lives on the rich side of town in a big house without a leaky roof and working electrics. You hate her even more. You make a second date, this time it’s on you.

***

She listens to the things you tell her about the stars and the constellations even though you are sure she knows it already. You purposely say something dumb to see if she corrects you but she doesn’t, she just squeezes your hand. She walks you home and you dance among the streetlamps re-enacting Singing in the Rain. You arrange a date for next week.

***

You show up five minutes earlier and see her talking to some guy who is tall and handsome and everything you’re not. She laughs and clutches his arm, they look perfect. You bet he has money and a car and a roof that doesn’t leak. He probably knows and understands her references. You think he’s the type of guy that likes modern art. You hate her. You go home and ignore her calls.

***

“What did I do that you won’t return any of my calls! I thought I made it clear that I really enjoy you sense of humour and your voice and your, god, your everything!”

“I’m working.”

“No! You do not get play that card on me.”

“Oh look is Princess not getting her own way for once.”

“Ugh you are-”

“Not a pity project and not worth your time. You have five minutes to leave before I get the bouncer to escort you out.”

She throws her hands up but complies. You end up going home with the first guy that talks to you after your shift. He’s tall and handsome but clumsy and his laugh is grating and his hair is disgusting. You hate him.


End file.
